Sonnet
by Stephane Richer
Summary: If only he knew when this person was slipping these things in his locker and his bag and his desk; if only he can stop it before his head gets any more muddled up; if only he can somehow explain how flattered he is but how wasted these attentions are


Sonnet

Disclaimer: don't own

Notes: Day 3 of the 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge by ghiraher on tumblr: anonymous love letters

* * *

The third sonnet is folded neatly into his gym locker; he finds it after practice and puts it in his back pocket as a reward for when he finishes his homework; of course it's all he can think about and he rushes through the work before flopping back on his bed and unfolding the piece of paper. The neat letters stand out stark against the plain white paper; this, too, is unsigned and is only fourteen lines, almost insubstantial the way they're cramped on the center of the page.

_O fair one, thy intensity doth take_

_my breath away the way it makes thine eyes_

_shine brighter still than light off mountain lakes._

_Thine lips are burning rubies and the skies_

_do echo words within from which they sound,_

_more clear than air from highest altitude._

_And thoughts thou voice around me doth resound,_

_and ringing true within my head take root._

_To put it plainly, I just cannot quite_

_take thoughts of thee completely from my mind._

_You never leave my head; it seems a blight_

_that other things along with thee reside._

_For thou art of such beauty, like a star_

_that shines above me every night and is_

_a comfort to me, for despite how far_

_we are, o fair one, shining, your charis-_

_ma draws me in; I cannot look away._

_You light up every night and every day._

He carefully places it on his bedside table and buries his head in his hands. It's perfect; the structure is almost completely by-the-book (slant rhymes aside) and it's tailored to him—it's incredibly flattering but incredibly frustrating. It can't be a prank; no one would put this much thought into a prank, and they'd probably provide some hint as to their identity, whoever they are—even if it's a false one to lead him on a wild goose chase. If only he knew when this person was slipping these things in his locker and his bag and his desk; if only he can stop it before his head gets any more muddled up; if only he can somehow explain how flattered he is but how wasted these attentions are and how much he wants to see this hopeless crush of his own through—perhaps the poet has the same sort of crush on him, but it would be fair to let this person know. Reo turns off the light and buries his face in the pillow, despite how bad it is for his skin. This is really fucking hard.

* * *

Mayuzumi still eats lunch on the roof, even in the winter. He's up in mid-January in his coat with his thermos full of coffee; he looks annoyed to see Reo but that's par for the course and at least he's not running away or hiding his presence.

"Mayuzumi-san?"

"What do you want?"

Blunt as ever. "I've come to ask a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

Reo pulls out all three poems and hands them over. Mayuzumi frowns and reads through them. "You want me to edit your English homework? No thanks."

Reo sighs. "No. Someone's been delivering these to me anonymously and I need you to help me find out who they are or at least a way for me to contact them so I can reject them nicely."

"Why should I help you?"

"Isn't it interesting? Don't these kinds of things happen in light novels?"

"Just because I like reading about it doesn't mean I want to be a part of it."

"But I could really use your observational skills."

"Okay, why do you want to reject them?"

Flattery does open doors. "Because there's someone I like already."

"Then they're sending the letters. That's how it always goes in light novels."

"It's not his handwriting. Besides, he's the type who would just come out and tell me if he liked me. And if he wrote poems they would be about gyudon."

Mayuzumi half-shrugs and then starts. "Wait, you like Nebuya?"

"Don't tell anyone."

Mayuzumi snorts. "I should have known. What the hell do you see in him?"

"Well, even though he's gross and sweaty he—"

"That was a rhetorical question. But I'll keep an eye out around your locker for your mystery person."

"You're not going to analyze the poems?"

"Are you sure this isn't your English homework?"

Perhaps he'd better not push it. Reo mutters a hasty goodbye and goes back indoors. At least it's better than nothing.

* * *

The fourth sonnet comes on Friday morning, tucked into the front pocket on his schoolbag in much the same manner as the first. Even its gorgeous words can't distract Reo from Eikichi when he goes to practice—his shots go in the net cleaner; he jumps gracefully despite his body amassing a few extra kilograms of muscle; the grin on his face as he blocks shot after shot in the scrimmage makes Reo forget to move into position and even the coaches are noticing something wrong with him. He tells them that everything is fine—how can he explain it? That he's got a hopeless crush on one of his teammates? That would make everything worse. Even when they're split, each of the four starters on one team and his team is playing Kotarou's on one half of the court he can't help but glance at the other court whenever he can at Eikichi's arms streaking through the air, can't help but focus on the way Eikichi's cries ring off the walls and backboards and bleachers when he hears them.

They regroup and end up on the same team against Kotarou and Seijuurou's combined efforts, and while he complains loudly that Eikichi's patting him too hard on the back he relishes the imprint of those large hands against his shoulder blades, savors the skin-to-skin contact, the casual way Eikichi touches his shoulder.

Reo texts Mayuzumi after practice; he replies that he saw nothing and that Reo should watch his own bag more closely anyway, and Reo almost throws the phone across the room.

* * *

The sonnets continue to arrive; he receives two more the next week and realizes that he's anticipating their arrival, checking his school locker and gym locker and desk and bag with excitement—it's sick. It's not like he just gets off on the praise or has decided that because they're about him they're the greatest poems ever. It's just so vexing—who is this wonderful poet? If there are people here who can write like this, why is the school literary magazine so bad? Why does he feel some sort of strange attraction? This could be just a lonely, sick individual who's stalking him (but he'd notice a stalker, wouldn't he?) or a terrible person who kills puppies and steals from the poor and laughs at bullied children. This person is a coward, hiding behind their anonymity to send these poems. There must be a reason they're abandoning their identity, but what can it be?

Mayuzumi refuses to discuss it at length with him and still hasn't found out who it is; Reo is beginning to think he's just teasing him for kicks or indulging him nominally just so he doesn't make a fuss, but at this point he doesn't really care. He's got to make up his mind on his own, which attraction to pursue and how to do it, and he doesn't want Mayuzumi to do it for him.

* * *

The only thing he can do in situations like this is bake, but when he gets to the dorm kitchen Eikichi is already there. He waits a few seconds before he resolves to come in because he's no coward. And the allure of being with Eikichi, poet or no poet, is too much for him to turn down.

"I'm making cold-brew coffee," Eikichi says. "I put it in this morning and it should be ready soon."

"While you're waiting, will you help me bake?" Reo bats his eyelashes.

Eikichi smirks. "Absolutely, as long as I get some cupcakes."

Reo smacks his arm, relishing the feel of his skin and the firmness of his muscles and taut skin, however brief. "Yes, you can have some. It wouldn't do if I ate them all. Think of the pimples I would get and the weight I would gain."

"You've never had a zit in your life."

"How would you know? I don't wake up looking this beautiful, you know."

Eikichi shrugs. "You look just the same to me when you're all sweaty and stuff, but whatever."

Reo huffs and then silently assembles the ingredients. After he pours the milk in and adds the eggs, he hands the bowl and a whisk to Eikichi. "Knock yourself out."

It's nice to not have to tire his wrist out with the repeated motion; Eikichi's great at making the batter smooth, too, beating out the lumps of flour with sheer force and willpower. And the view is nice, too; Reo lets him go for longer than he knows is strictly necessary before he taps him on the shoulder.

"Good?"

"Great."

Eikichi pours them both iced coffee while they wait; it's smooth and strong and much more subtle than he'd think Eikichi would prefer—he's capable of subtleties, sure, but he generally prefers loud boisterousness and brash confidence. Reo smiles as he sips and Eikichi smiles, too; they speak of classes and basketball and mutual friends and it's been so long since they've had a good talk like this and Reo can tell Eikichi's thinking that too by the way he grips his coffee cup and leans forward and the way his hands are animated. His mind is made up by the time he takes the cupcakes out of the oven; as he watches Eikichi mix the frosting he nods to himself. Tomorrow he's due for another sonnet; tomorrow he'll catch the poet in the act and confront him to reject him nicely so he can pursue Eikichi in earnest with a clean conscience.

* * *

By the third time he sneaks back into the locker room (the most likely destination of the next sonnet) he's run out of excuses; he can't go back to the bathroom or for another water bottle and have it seem reasonable before practice is over, so this had better work. He runs a hand through his hair and slams open the door; he hears a locker door slam from the general direction of the second-years' area and grins. No hurried footsteps follow; the poet is waiting to see who it is. Perfect.

Reo turns the corner and gasps—someone is right in front of his locker, but that someone is none other than Eikichi.

Eikichi tries to back up but he's right in front of the row of lockers; he has nowhere to go and can't exactly hide what he's doing easily. Reo folds his arms across his chest.

"What are you doing with my locker, Eikichi?"

"Um…I…"

Reo raises an eyebrow and Eikichi drops his hands; a neatly-folded piece of paper falls out onto the floor.

"Give it to me."

Eikichi doesn't move.

"Give it to me."

Eikichi bends down and picks it up, placing the piece of paper in Reo's hand. Their eye contact does not break until Reo unfolds the paper and scans it.

"_The lashes of thine eyes, o fair one, are_…Eikichi, did you write this?"

"Yes," he says, exhaling. "I wrote it. I wrote all of them. I wrote you two sonnets every week; I delivered them anonymously. I just…I'm sorry, Reo. I know you think I'm just some insensitive brute, and I act like that sometimes, but I knew if I just asked you you'd reject me or think it was a joke because you think I'm gross and—"

"It was you all along."

"That's what I just said."

"No, Eikichi, you're the one I like. You've been the one I like since before you started sending those poems. You idiot!"

"I'm sorry I didn't realize, considering how you—"

"Idiot! I was so worried; I was trying to catch this poet person and tell him that I was sorry because I already liked someone even though I was falling for his words. I felt torn up inside, like my heart was untrue, and every time you'd touch me or talk to me I was sure it was you but then every time I got a poem I was sure it was this other guy. You've caused my maiden's heart so much unnecessary torment."

"I said I was sorry, didn't I? How the hell was I supposed to know? You told Mayuzumi you liked poetry and you kept telling me to be more gentle and sensitive but I just figured it would be weird if I just started telling you I liked your eyes and your intensity and stuff and so I put it in a poem."

"I told you I liked it. That's not the point." Reo huffs.

But what is the point?

"Why are we still fighting about this, anyway?" says Eikichi. "Do you like me or not?"

"Yes."

"So go out with me?" He reaches out a hand.

"Only if you keep writing me two sonnets a week. Devoted to different parts of my body. And the rest of me, too."

Eikichi grabs his hand; both of their palms are sweaty but it doesn't matter. "That's a tall order, but I think I can manage."

"Sweet of you," says Reo.

He crosses the distance between them.

"We should get back to practice," says Eikichi.

"You're a tease," says Reo, and kisses him squarely on the mouth—he tastes like Pocari and his lips don't move quite right but it's everything Reo's been waiting for and more.

* * *

Notes: I spend too long describing these 'perfect kisses' and I'm kind of sorry. Also I promise one day one of these challenge things will be an established relationship or something that doesn't culminate in the start of a relationship haha. (Also it might be worth noting that Eikichi got a 5/5 in the intelligence stats and his motto is about having a strong mind; even if he seems like a meathead he's quite smart.) And I haven't written a sonnet in two years and it's…harder than I remembered.


End file.
